Gemotions

The smell of pot roast filled the house, a fragrance that should have been comforting. Instead, it made David’s stomach clench. He sat in his usual chair at the kitchen table, legs crossed, arms folded across his chest. He was waiting.

“David, dear, could you grab the potatoes from the pantry?” his mother asked, her voice light. He could see her, bustling around the stove, radiating domesticity. He didn't move. He picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth, his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern.

His father cleared his throat, a silent signal. David ignored it. He wasn’t going to comply.